Rosemerta
by llorolalluvia
Summary: Hermione Granger is about to learn her limits. How far will she go to get an answer? And how much will she do to keep from being found out? Tisktisk, Hermione. Didn't your mother ever tell you not to play with Polyjuice? As a Fifth year, you would think she'd have learned her lesson by now. Rated M for Adult Situations!
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer**__: I do not own Harry Potter. _

_**WARNINGS**__: Hermione is a Fifth year. BUT, Rosemerta is not ;P _

_Also, fyi, I picture my Rosemerta looking a lot like Nancy from the musical _Oliver! _so that should give you an idea about her wardrobe. _

...*~*J*~*...

"We believe Voldemort may be after something… Something he didn't have last time."

_But what on earth could it be?_ They had been racking their brains for weeks, but it just wouldn't do. Clearly, this was an answer they would have to be _given_. Unfortunately, no one was handing out answers.

All summer, they had attempted to listen in on the Order meetings, but the few bits and pieces they had managed to overhear had been almost entirely useless. What they needed was someone on the inside who would be willing to share that information with them. Of course, if Sirius Black wasn't willing, it wasn't likely anyone else ever would be. And time was running out. With one week left before their return to Hogwarts, and therefore probably _one_ last Order meeting (which would probably revolve more around their return to the castle than whatever 'weapon' Voldemort was supposed to be seeking), it was about time to come up with Plan B.

The idea was formed around the assumption that the information itself was not Top Secret, but that they were not to be told on account of their age. That was a flimsy base for a plan, to be sure, but at present it was all they had. After all, they _knew_ that some otherwise confidential information had been shared with the witch. She was something of a confidant, if not an actual Order member (which they also could not rule out, to be fair).

In short, they were desperate. So desperate, in fact, that they were returning to a plan they had formulated as _second years_, for Merlin's sake! Well, in her defence, the boys' transformation into Crabbe and Goyle in order to spy on Malfoy had not been an entirely fruitless venture. And, on the bright side, after that fiasco with Barty Crouch Jr. last year, Professor Snape was getting pretty accustomed to having Polyjuice ingredients stolen from him. In fact, in combination with the Draught of Dreamless Sleep and the secret passageway right into the woman's basement, the plan should go off without a hitch.

Of course, all of that would be for nothing if they didn't answer her questions, but that only meant time wasted, as opposed to any _actual_ repercussions. Not that Hermione Granger did not value her time; she certainly did, but homework had to play second-string in a world where Voldemort was at large. She had had to sort out her priorities.

Madame Rosemerta was not an unfamiliar character to the Trio. They had watched her interacting with her customers for years. Alright, so it was only two years… about once a month, briefly stopping by while they were out, when they weren't just paying attention to each other… Well, at least Ronald had been studying the woman.

And hadn't it been on Harry's very first trip to Hogsmeade that he'd overheard a conversation between their professors and the witch that had given away _another_ secret no one had wanted Harry to know? Ever since then, Hermione had noticed that the woman tended to speak with their professors quite a lot, but it was still a great risk to imagine it would happen during their first Hogsmeade outing of the year. Of course, in theory, they could always repeat the experiment if it was not fruitful. But then, Madame Rosemerta might begin to grow suspicious if she kept waking up passed out in her basement and unable to recall the day before. For now, that concern would have to fall under the 'Potential Repercussions' bullet, and they would deal with it after the fact.

Deciding it was worth a shot, the Golden Trio dedicated weeks to preparation for their first Hogsmeade visit of the year. The Polyjuice Potion had to brew for a month, of course, but they were able to acquire all the necessary ingredients in time to do just that. The first trip to the local town was scheduled for the first week of October, so it would be ready in the nick of time. In the meanwhile, Hermione practiced clothing Transfiguration, so that she would not have to remove articles from the unconscious woman, the mere prospect of which made her crinkle her nose in disgust. It was difficult at first, but she very quickly caught on to the technique. Nevertheless, she continued to practice, constantly challenging herself lest the woman's clothes be particularly difficult. Oh, what was she kidding? That wasn't the part that made her nervous.

In their second year, she had not been able to accompany the boys to the dungeons to complete their quest. She had no experience to draw from, save the recounted recollections of Harry and Ron. And that had been Slytherin _students_, not adult professors, they were attempting to fool. And they had known _plenty_ about the two thugs to play the roles, but Hermione knew next to nothing about Rosemerta.

It became a sort of obsession; gathering pieces of information about the witch she was to impersonate. And very quickly she learned that no one really knew anything about her. So, without proper insight into character, Hermione delved into the intricacies of her role. She studied alcohol. Thankfully, Fred and George knew quite a bit about the different drinks and prices and gave Hermione an idea of the job she would have to perform. After all, the Draught of Dreamless Sleep (which they all agreed was vital) would keep the barmaid quite unconscious for the rest of the night. Could they give her a smaller dose and allow the real woman to return to her duties without garnering suspicion? Absolutely not. It was better that she woke the next day and began anew. Perhaps they would even find a way to move her sleeping body to the apartments they believed must be nearby. That would come later, of course. Much of the information they needed would not be available until she was there, herself. And that irked Hermione more than she was willing to say.

The first major threat to their big plans was the overstepping-Ministry-official-masquerading-as-a-Defense-Instructor, Dolores Umbridge. She was a piece of the equation that they never could have calculated prior to her introduction. Apparently, the Ministry was spying on Hogwarts and possibly—probably—attempting to control it. Umbridge patrolled the castle with an iron hand and a passion that made Snape look apathetic. And worse, she had the authority of the Ministry. Hermione was terrified the woman would find them brewing illegally in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, once again. Miraculously, that was not the case.

The fourth of October was a chilly, oppressive sort of day. The sky was white, the air was windy, and the cold seemed to seep into her bones. But all of that was nothing compared to the anxiety gnawing at the pit of her stomach and squeezing her fragile fifth year heart. It was time.

They could only hope that this escapade would not end in utter failure due to the myriad of variables they could not calculate before the fact. What was she to say to regulars? What if she had to pour a drink she did not know? Naturally, her plan involved the frequent and inconspicuous use of a Confundus Charm.

Their classmates were lining up in front of Filch when Harry, Ron, and Hermione slipped away with the Invisibility Cloak. They had grown too tall to fit the three of them beneath it and manage to walk at the same time, but it would be necessary when they reached their destination.

"Are you ready?" Harry asked her. His concern only made her stomach flip with nerves. Not wanting to trust her voice, she merely nodded as they slipped into the tunnel. They were standing beneath the trap door that led to the cellar of "The Three Broomsticks" when Hermione felt her first stab of uncertainty. Was this secret really worth all of this? She had been hopelessly naïve to imagine that failure would be merely a waste of time. Failure could, in any number of ways, be completely disastrous. _Oh_, she felt like a fool as they pulled themselves up into the darkness of the tiny room. There was no way to be certain that they were covered by the Cloak as they lay in wait, crouching in a corner. Hopefully, they wouldn't have to wait for long.

It seemed an eternity before the cellar door opened and the Trio took a collective breath as Madame Rosemerta appeared. She had hardly made it down the stairs before Ron leapt up with a shouted "_Stupefy!_" and the witch promptly crumpled to the floor.

"_Brilliant_, Ron!" Hermione hissed, throwing the cloak off as she hurried to close the door.

"Someone had to do it!" he protested.

"You didn't need to _shout!_"

"Relax," Harry cut in with a stern expression, "I don't think anybody heard us, or they'd have come down here by now."

Hermione huffed anxiously. "I hope you're right."

The three hesitated for a moment, simply staring down at the unconscious witch. "Suppose we ought to move her," Ron suggested.

"We need to administer the Dreamless Sleep," Hermione reminded him. "And get the hairs."

Harry cut in impatiently at that. "We also need to hurry up. They'll be suspicious if she's ten minutes in the cellar."

"Good point," said Hermione.

"Right," added Ron.

Pouring a potion into the witch's mouth turned out to be more of a challenge than Hermione had imagined, and she managed to spill some of it down the side of the woman's face. But there was nothing for it. And anyway, they had given the witch a dose to last until morning, so it ought to be just fine. She massaged the woman's throat until she swallowed, then pulled some hairs and set about preparing a flask to carry with her while the boys levitated the body behind a bunch of crates. It was morbidly unsettling to leave the woman here, like this. But… it was for the Greater Good, wasn't it?

"R-right," Hermione stammered, brushing out her skirts and fiddling with the other woman's hair. "How do I look," she asked the boys, for want of any mirror.

"Blimey!" said Ron, openmouthed and staring at her newfound figure. Hermione fought the urge to snap at him and found herself blushing at the same time. Certainly this body was more curvaceous than her own, but Hermione had not thought anything of it until she saw that look on Ronald's face. It made her feel self-conscious and supremely uncomfortable.

But there was no time to dwell on those feelings. "Right," she said again, turning to the door. "I'll see you later, then."

"Right." The boys both echoed, slipping back under the cloak to follow her upstairs.

She was about to open the door when Harry grabbed her shoulder. "Wait," he whispered, "should we come back here? Or do you think you can manage from here on out?"

Hermione hadn't thought about that and was not sure she knew the best response, but she didn't have the luxury of time right now. "No. I should be fine," she told him, at last. She could levitate the body on her own… not that she knew where she would be taking it. But that was a plan for later. _Oh gods._

Light and the noise of a boisterous crowd assaulted her as the door swung open, at last. She held it open long enough to be sure the boys had passed and closed it with a gut-wrenching surge of doubt. She only took a moment to breathe before stepping behind the counter and setting about her plan. First, she made a round to recover empty glasses to make herself look busy and give herself a feel of the establishment. The dishes were put beside the sink where a sponge was Charmed to scrub them clean and she found the money box exactly where the twins said it would be—and how they knew that, she really didn't want to know. That was when the first lash of terror swept down her spine. How was she to open the thing? She was so relieved when a mere touch of her fingertips unlocked the contraption that she had to sigh aloud.

That was when the next challenge could be delayed no more: the customers. _Treat everyone like a regular_, she told herself, smiling at an older man as he sipped on Fire Whiskey. She was startled to see him blush. In fact, as she moved about the bar, Hermione noticed that the eyes of most of the men in the pub were following her. It was unsettling, to say the least.

Hermione Granger had never been _that girl_. Though she was far from ugly, she was never the one who drew the eye. Of course, she also never flaunted herself the way Madame Rosemerta apparently did. With gathered skirts and a corseted bodice cut quite low she was the image of a Victorian barmaid. Hermione marvelled at the way this image garnered attention. Had she simply never realized how important appearance was to most people? How… depressing.

Before she knew it, Hermione was suppressing scowls at her customers. How dare they disrespect her in this way? But it was not her. It was Rosemerta they were ogling, and Rosemerta was not shy. She needed to hide her scorn behind the guise of a confident—albeit sexualised—female.

Only an hour into her confident facade, Hermione was exhausted and disgusted and bitter. This was the world that she lived in, whether she liked it or not. Of course, that was hardly the purpose of the exercise, but she hadn't yet seen any sign of Professor McGonagall. They had decided that she would be the most likely to include the other witch, as she had been the one to enlighten her last time. Unfortunately, only Professors Flitwick, Hooch, and Trelawney had made an appearance thus far.

It was later in the afternoon when the dark figure of Professor Snape swept through the door. Hermione lit up with hope. Snape was an Order member. Maybe _he_ would tell her. But that hope was just as quickly squashed when she remembered that Severus Snape was a reclusive, secretive, friendless spy.

The Head of Slytherin House acknowledged very few as he approached the bar. He nodded stiffly to a table of Slytherin seventh years and to two unfamiliar gentlemen sitting in the corner. And then his eyes fell on her and Hermione had to fight the instinctive fear. His scowl was firmly set and his eyes were patronizing as he claimed one of the stools at the bar. This sent a strange flutter of nervousness through Hermione, as she would not be able to avoid the man. And he was a skilled Legilimens. What if he saw through their charade?

"How can I help you, Professor?" she asked, leaning against the bar in what she hoped was a casual manner. He lifted an eyebrow, and a pang of doubt squeezed her chest. Was it her behaviour or her address that was unusual? _Should I call him 'Severus'?_ The prospect was unthinkable.

"Scotch," he told her, simply.

Hermione hesitated. Part of what had made this act unchallenging was the fact that nearly everyone ordered Butterbeer or Fire Whiskey. _Damn him for being difficult._ "On-on the rocks?" she heard herself asking as she reached for a tumbler.

At that, one side of his mouth turned up in a wicked grin. Hermione very nearly dropped the glass. She had never had that _particular_ expression directed at herself before. "Indeed," he told her in a voice like a charcoal sea, and before she had a chance to turn away, his eyes raked down her front before connecting with her own. It was the subtlest of all the glances of the day, but its deliberate nature made her heart begin to hammer and her cheeks begin to heat. She turned away before he could see how flustered she'd become and reached for the first bottle of Scotch she could find. Handing him the tumbler, she swept off to busy herself elsewhere before the professor could find her out.

She was being paranoid. There was no other explanation. How else could she feel his eyes on her as she moved about the room, only to find him intent on his drink whenever she chanced a glance his way? Was she afraid he would discover her secret? Or was she unnerved by the reaction he had inspired with those eyes? Hermione had never considered her professor a sexual man. That is, to her, he had always been... a _professor._ Well, that was nonsense. Of course she had always known he was a man... but perhaps she had never thought of him as... _that_ sort of a man. _Oh, as what sort, Hermione? A heterosexual? He's a _man!_ It's not at all unexpected that he should... what? Lust? Merlin._ The very idea sent a tingle down her spine. It was ridiculous, of course. Professor Snape was a man in his prime. Naturally, all of the evidence pointed toward him feeling these sorts of things, but to have it directed at _her_... _Not me! Madame Rosemerta. _

Eventually, she had to drift his way, again. He would be needing another drink. And anyway, she certainly didn't want to rouse his suspicion by avoiding him. One long finger tapped the edge of his empty glass and Hermione immediately bent to refill it. "Long day ahead?" she heard herself ask him. Immediately, she felt the need to smack herself in the face. Severus Snape did not make idle chitchat.

"Hardly," he scoffed, catching her eyes as he took a sip of the golden liquid. "Though I imagine _you_ do."

Hermione sighed. "You have no idea."

His eyes gleamed at that, though the humour never made it to his lips. "Don't I?"

Not knowing how to respond, Hermione changed the subject. "So... what's it like outside my little establishment, today?" This remark seemed so natural that she had to praise herself.

"Dreary," the grouchy professor admitted. "And cold. I wouldn't have braved the unleashing of the hellions if I didn't have business in town." He met her eyes. "My personal stores of Potions ingredients are dwindling, once again."

Hermione was immediately on her guard. "Is that so?"

"Naturally. My supply is often low toward the beginning of term as I tend to spend the summer months experimenting."

"_Really?_"

There was that lifted eyebrow, again. Realising that she was breaking character, Hermione turned away and busied herself with refilling another man's glass. _Professor Snape _experiments_ with Potions?! _ It shouldn't have been surprising, but it certainly was impressive. She made another circuit of the pub, taking the opportunity to dose herself with Polyjuice. The crowd was dwindling. Her heart sank. The longer the day went on without a glimpse of McGonagall, the more likely this would all be one big failure. Would they risk doing it again? Would it be too suspicious? Would there be repercussions tomorrow, anyway? She shook her head, deciding that it was no use dwelling on it just now. And anyway, the Potions Master was telling a story.

She returned to her professor and refilled his glass, once more. "So..." she began again, hopefully, "what _sorts_ of experiments were you doing?"

He grinned at her and leaned forward conspiratorially. Hermione found herself leaning anxiously against the bar, straining to hear his answer. "The secret sort."

Her instinct was to laugh, but then she had to marvel at the fact that Severus Snape was joking around with her. Hell, he was practically... _Oh gods._ Her stomach twisted anxiously. Professor Snape was flirting with her. _Oh gods_. What if she gave him the wrong idea? No, but... didn't Madame Rosemerta flirt with _everyone? _ It was probably harmless. Still, she should try not to lead him on.

And then... there was something so strange about flirting with the austere professor. Before today, she never in her wildest dreams would have imagined that he was capable of such. Yet, here he was, smirking at her with an intelligent, confident glint in his coal black eyes. It brought home the fact that she didn't know her professor on a personal basis at all. She only knew him as regarded the role he played as their teacher. To imagine him outside of class, behaving in a social manner, _flirting_ with the barmaid, for Merlin's sake... it blew her mind. And then, _oh gods_, he was clearly practised. She never would have expected the grouchy professor to be so smooth. If anything, she would have imagined him failing hopelessly in his dealings with the opposite sex. But, clearly, she had underestimated him. Clearly, the dark professor was much more experienced than she ever would have guessed. That thought brought a blush to her cheeks as she found herself inexplicably imagining Snape having sex. It was something she'd never considered before, but of course she didn't fancy him a virgin. At least, not now that she had seen the way mischief glinted so naturally in his eyes. Brushing the unbidden images from her mind, Hermione made another round of the pub to clear her head.

The dark professor left shortly after that, apparently planning to spend a few hours in the bookstore, which made Hermione supremely jealous. He paid with a stack of coins and slipped out of the pub, leaving her with the dwindling crowd of oglers as the sun began to set. Somehow, having had him there, she felt unsafe now that he was gone. She was a vulnerable, single witch in a bar of drunken old wizards and it would be night soon. McGonagall hadn't come. What had she been thinking?

Hermione had considered the afternoon crowd 'busy,' but it was nothing compared to the night. Thankfully, there were other women present, as well, but she still felt uncertain of her position. Hour by hour, she punished herself for getting into this fix. How could she have been so arrogant to think that the answers would simply fall into her lap? Now, she was left dealing with rowdy drunkards as penance for her sins.

_This is humanity_, she marvelled, watching as the women present threw themselves at the men; watching as the men paid over and over again for drinks for different women as their chances and interests fluctuated. Several of them offered one to her.

By the end of the night, Hermione's facade of cheerfulness and hospitality had been worn down until it was all but discarded altogether. She grew blunt, no longer caring what the customers thought of her. If they knew Rosemerta well enough, they would know she was behaving strangely, and probably think she was in a mood. And she was, in fact. She was tired and sore and disappointed, and she just wanted this all to be over.

It was quite late before the crowd began to thin. Hermione had no idea what time the pub usually closed, and certainly didn't know how to go about doing that. Instead, she merely played her role and drank her potion and waited until the last couple slipped out giggling and the last drunk old man was pulling coins from a small pouch and putting them in her hand. It was then that Severus Snape re-entered the establishment. Hermione was so surprised that she must have gaped at him, but he merely sneered and waited until the drunkard made it out the door. Then, he warded the door with a swish of his wand and walked slowly toward her.

A hundred thoughts ripped through her mind all at once. Had he found her out? Was he here to punish her? Was he here to hurt her? Did he mean to make a move on her? And then... were they involved?

"You've been in a strange mood, today," he told her, stepping toward her until her bum bumped the stools at the bar. He was a foot away, encroaching on her personal space, when he stopped. "Are you alright?"

"F-fine," she whispered, unsure how Rosemerta would react.

"Because," at this, he stepped closer, leaning toward her until his breath puffed in her hair and she leaned back against the bar, unconsciously, "I've been thinking about you all day." One of his hands wrapped around her waist and the other tangled in her hair and Hermione gasped in shock. "Yes, you little tease," he growled, lowering his head until his mouth brushed against her neck. Her breath hitched, but that was not fear pounding in her veins. Suddenly, her body was being pulled tight against his and his teeth were nipping at her neck. "How I wanted to _grab_ you, _pull_ you down to me. But, you do enjoy tormenting me, don't you?"

"No—I..." his mouth met hers and Hermione felt like wilting. This was her professor! She'd hardly ever touched him in her life, and now his hot breath was pouring across her face. She could scarcely believe what was happening. His mouth was on hers! And it was so soft... and sweet... and, _unrelenting_. He pulled her closer to him, one hand dipping down to grope her bum as he thrust his tongue into her mouth. Hermione inadvertently moaned as he pulled one thigh up and pushed her against the bar. She should stop this. She should really stop this. But, then, what could she say? He couldn't know the truth. She wasn't even sure how much he was _allowed_ to know about it all.

Suddenly, he pulled away from her, panting into the cool night air. "We should relocate," he told her. Hermione knew that this was the moment she had to decide. Her professor was already heading around toward the back, where the door to the cellar was hidden. She knew a moment's panic and hurried to his side before he reached for a different door, opening it and standing aside to let her pass. This was it. No going back. She stepped through and began her ascent up a flight of stairs.

Rosemerta's apartment above "The Three Broomsticks" was small, but organized and tasteful. Hermione felt more like an intruder than she had all day. Then, her professor was behind her, pulling her body up against his own and pressing his nose against her hair. One hand wrapped around, sliding up to where her breasts spilled out of the burgundy bodice. The very tips of his fingers caressed her bare skin before sliding down along the laces with a magical touch that opened the bodice before her very eyes—a move that could only have come from long practise. Hermione shivered at the thought. Her classmates wouldn't make half so many jokes about the man if they only knew how suave he was. Ginny, in particular, would have a fit if she knew that their grouchy Potions Master made Dean's persuasive seduction tactics look like the clumsy fumbling of a schoolboy.

Beneath the bodice, she was naked, and she moaned as her professor's hands came up to claim those heavy breasts. He squeezed her hard, groaning into her ear—a sound which made Hermione's knees go weak as a hot tightness formed between her legs. Then, he was stepping away and pulling her toward the bed.

She was naked and on her back in half a minute, gazing up as her professor removed his robes. She felt terribly embarrassed, despite the fact that this body was not her own, but the lust in his gaze was like fire and Hermione could feel it. This was not his paramour. She could see that, now. There was no emotional attachment here. This arrangement they clearly had was nothing more than _sex_. She shivered. The very idea of her professor having casual sex seemed foreign. Unwittingly becoming his partner? She could scarcely comprehend it all at once.

When Snape's coat and shoes had been removed, he climbed onto the bed and covered her body with his own. Their mouths met and Hermione allowed the sensation to overtake her. If this was going to happen, she _needed_ to stay in character. Snape moaned into her mouth as he squeezed her breasts, pinching Rosemerta's dusky nipples. He rubbed his groin against the juncture between her legs and Hermione gasped at the feel of his hard erection.

"Gods, you feel so good," he growled, slipping down her body to press his face between her breasts. His mouth was everywhere at once, biting and licking and nuzzling the tender flesh. She couldn't help but moan. And when he took one of those dark nipples into his mouth, she whimpered with pleasure and latched onto his hair, pulling him tighter against herself. "There you are," he said in a dangerous voice, "About time you came around." Then his hand was sliding between her legs and Hermione tensed instinctively, but kept herself from pushing him away. "Mmmm you're so wet, you little tease. Gods I've missed fucking you." His mouth was on hers in an instant and she could feel him fumbling with his trousers. Then, he was pushing her legs wide apart and probing her entrance with his cock. When he pushed inside, Hermione gasped in shock and then moaned with pleasure. She had never felt anything like it.

He was rocking frantically against her, breaking his mouth away from her lips to stare down at her as he moved. Those fathomless black eyes met hers and the reality of the situation fell over Hermione. Her professor was fucking her. His jaw was slack and his expression one of concentration. Then his eyes swept down to watch her breasts bounce and he moaned, hammering urgently against her.

Abruptly, he pulled out of her, grunting as he watched hot liquid spill across her skin. Hermione was at once amazed and horrified. Most of the hot, white liquid was spread across her breasts, as if on purpose. Then, with a wave of his hand, it was gone. _Well, that wasn't so bad_, she thought to herself, although she did have to admit to being a bit disappointed. It had felt so good and then it had just ended.

But then her professor was crawling backwards on the mattress and settling himself between her legs. His mouth landed gently against her aching flesh and Hermione moaned. He laughed. "Is that what you want? Why are you being so coy, tonight?"

"S-sorry," Hermione breathed, gasping as his open mouth reconnected with her flesh. "L-long day." His tongue was sending a mixture of sparks and surges of wet heat through her core. She writhed beneath his touch, her legs restless with desire.

"Do you like that?" he asked her, eliciting incoherent moans from the witch. "I'm going to make you come, and then I'm going to fuck you again. Does that sound agreeable?"

"Y-yes," she heard herself confess. _Yes_, that _did_ sound agreeable. A little jolt of excitement raced through her body at the prospect. Soon, they would be doing it again. _Yes_, she did want that. "Oh Merlin." And he wanted it too. "Ohhh." She was arching off of the bed, trying to follow the source of the pleasure and picturing the fire in his eyes as he had come. "Oh, _yes_," she murmured. "Are you enjoying this?"

He merely hummed against her flesh. "_Mmmmmm_." It was that deep voice that sparked her peak; Professor Snape's voice growling with arousal. She looked up in time to see his dark hair bobbing between her legs and something burst apart inside of her, causing her to cry out into the darkness of the room as she writhed in ecstasy. When her body began to calm, she noticed her professor stripping out of the rest of his clothes. His body was wiry and paler than she could have realized, with spatterings of thin, dark hair. That was all she was able to discern before his flesh connected with hers, once more.

Pausing to nuzzle her breasts again, the Potions Master flipped Hermione over and pulled her up onto her knees before pushing inside of her once more. The sensation was blinding, and his passion was fierce as he pounded into her. Before she knew what was happening, she was convulsing beneath him, once again. This time, he did not come quickly, but hammered into her for several agonizingly pleasurable minutes before pulling her hard against him and freezing above her with a growl of release.

In the aftermath, Hermione panted into the pillow, crushing Rosemerta's large breasts into the mattress as her professor slowly redressed. Before she knew it, he was sitting on the bed beside her, lacing his dragonhide boots, and she had a sudden urge to cry. It hadn't meant anything to him. That is, she wasn't entirely sure what it had meant to her, either... but he was sated and ready to leave. He had gotten what he'd come for. What more use was she to him? It made her feel hollow inside, as she never had before. Even Professor Snape, whom she admired and respected more—she suddenly realised—than any other grown man she knew, was just a creature of the flesh like all the other men she'd met that day.

He met her eyes, suddenly. "Something wrong?" he asked. She only shook her head. "Was it good for you?" he persisted.

"Yes," she answered automatically. It wasn't a lie. At the time, it had been rather satisfying. But now that they were no longer rapt in the throes of passion, she wasn't sure it had been worth it. Of course, she'd hardly had a choice at the time. If she had, she never would have allowed it to go so far. Nevertheless, she couldn't help but wonder if she would have enjoyed it half as much if she could have foreseen this cold, impersonal farewell.

"Good," was all he said, standing to leave before leaning over to place a kiss upon her temple. The action would have seemed sweet if he hadn't also stuffed a hand beneath her chest to grope her one more time before finally turning away. "Next week, then," he murmured by way of 'goodbye,' and slipped from the room. Hermione listened to the sound of his boots in the hall and down the stairs until she heard the distant sound of a door slamming shut. She let out a breath, but could not bring herself to rise from her position on the bed. It wasn't until she had shrunk back into her regular form, and her toes had grown cold, and her tears had come and gone, that Hermione finally lifted herself from Madame Rosemerta's bed. She pulled on her clothes, feeling numb and disappointed, and made her way down to the cellar.

When Rosemerta was safely tucked into her own bed, Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and laid a hand on the other witch's forehead. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. The young Gryffindor made an effort to clean up the establishment and lock the doors before heading down to the trapdoor and back to Hogwarts Castle. Well, it may have been a total failure, but one thing was certain: Hermione Granger would never be the same again.

...*~*J*~*...

_I hope you enjoyed it! I would love to hear your thoughts! Just a moment of your time brings a smile to my face, as I hope I've brought one to yours. So, Please Review!_

_:} llorolalluvia_


	2. Chapter 2

_So... apparently I can't write Oneshots... you would think I would have learned this fact by now... Many of you asked for a sequel to this, and it looks like it's going to be a three-part, like so many of my other 'Oneshot's. Please let me know what you think of this! And thank you for your encouragement!_

...*~*J*~*...

"No. Absolutely not."

"But 'Mione..."

"No!"

Harry walked over to sit beside her at the library table, plucking her hand from the notes she was attempting to write and holding it in both of his. "I know it wasn't easy for you, Hermione, but I _need_ to know what I'm up against. Anyway, she didn't seem to have a clue last time..."

"We didn't see her. We have _no_ way of knowing that."

The Boy Who Lived rubbed the back of her hand with the pad of his thumb, attempting to soothe, though she could feel his anxiety. "If there were some way _I_ could do it, you know I would. You were brilliant last time. Honest. And anyway, this time we've _confirmed_ that McGonagall is going to chaperone the outing."

"_Professor_ McGonagall, Harry."

He smirked at her. "_Minerva_ McGonagall, to you."

Hermione sighed, the powerlessness making her suddenly weary. "Harry, you don't understand. I just can't."

"And why not?" Ron Weasley took the chair across from her, whispering in a harsh breath across the table.

"_Because_..." she let out a huff of breath, unable to tell them specifically why. She had not confided her... _experiences_... last time with her two best mates. They would never understand it the way she did. They would be furious. "It's complicated."

"What, and we're too dumb to get it?" Ron's orange eyebrow's knitted angrily as he studied her with those piercing blue eyes.

"No, Ronald. Of course not. Only, you have to understand... it's not just that playing the part of Rosemerta was _exhausting_ for me. Which it _was_." She sighed again, simply unable to tell them the truth. "She's _bound_ to figure it out, don't you think? One unremembered day on a weekend when the Hogwarts students come to visit is one thing. Somehow forgetting another? Preposterous! She's _bound_ to be suspicious."

"And if she is," Harry reasoned, "she'll tell McGonagall. But it won't matter to us, because we'll have our answer."

"Harry, don't you see how dangerous that could be? Professor McGonagall will think that the information has been leaked. They will _panic!_"

"Yeah," Ron said obviously. "So what? It'll be too late to take the answers back. And at least _we'll_ know that no one important has got it."

"Exactly," Harry agreed. "And it's not as if it's a plan they could change. It's a very specific bit of information."

Hermione could feel that she was losing this argument. There was nothing for it but to confess. "Harry, Ron... you don't understand. Last time, I... I didn't want to break with my disguise... I had to go along with _everything_ the way Madame Rosemerta would do..."

The two nodded obviously at her. "Yeah," Ron said.

"And?" said Harry.

"_And_," she sighed, raising her eyes heavenward before lowering her voice even further. "And, Madame Rosemerta is currently involved in a sexual relationship."

For a moment, the boys just gaped at her, not seeming to understand. Then, Ron's eyes unfocused and he stared off at the wall of books behind her. Harry was far more concerned than his best friend. "_What?_" he demanded in a hiss. She only nodded. "You had _sex_?" Again, she nodded, dropping her face into her hands. She took one deep, shuddering breath before glancing back up at her friends. Their hazy expressions snapped to her.

Ron almost looked apologetic. "But, if you've already done it... Well, it's not like you couldn't..." he broke off, apparently hearing himself and realising how horrible the things he was saying were.

Harry was defensive. "Well... you should have pretended to have a headache or something." She glared at him, and he raised his hands up in defence. "That's what women do, isn't it?"

"I don't _know_, Harry! I'm only a sixteen year old _girl!_"

The boys at least had the grace to look ashamed of themselves at that, before Ron spoke up out of curiosity. "So, er, who was it?"

"_What_?"

"I mean, you know, who's she shagging?" The interest in those light blue eyes made Hermione glare at the young boy. Ron had always been fond of the curvy witch. His eagerness gave her the uncomfortable feeling that he was attempting to picture it. The thought filled her with disgust, then malice.

She sneered at the boy, loving the irony that he would be even more disgusted than she was, if he only knew the truth. "I would love to hear your guesses."

"It's someone we know, then?" Harry asked her. She only smirked.

Ron's brow furrowed. "Er... Lupin?" She shook her head, enjoying the way his face fell. "Lockheart? No, of course not. He's locked up in St. Mungo's. And it _couldn't_ be Sirius. Oh, please tell me it's not one of my brothers." Hermione hesitated a long moment, torturing the eager prat before slowly shaking her head. He let out a sigh of relief at that. "Could it be... it's not a student, then?"

"No."

"Blimey. Who else do we know?"

"Kingsley?" Harry blurted, eager to join the game.

"No."

Ron's eyes lit up with excitement. "Tonks!?"

"_Gods_ no!"

His Weasley features were crestfallen. "It's not a girl, then?" She shook her head. "Oh, _Merlin_, it couldn't be Dumbledore?" Hermione drew back from him in disgust at the revolting image now planted in her mind.

"Lucius Malfoy?" Harry asked.

"Mr. Lovegood?"

"Peter Pettigrew?"

"Goyle?"

"Crabbe?"

"Not a Death Eater, then?"

Hermione hesitated. "Not... exactly."

The two boys frowned in confusion and seemed to understand at the exact same moment, drawing back in their chairs in disgust. "Blimey, Hermione," Ron said, "I'm so sorry."

There was an uncomfortable silence. "It wasn't _so_ bad, actually," she admitted.

"Are you _insane?_" the redhead's face was pale and crinkled in disgust. "We are talking about... who I think we're talking about..."

"Snape?" Harry asked, as if hoping it wasn't true.

"_Professor_ Snape, Harry."

The two boys slouched back, simultaneously. "Ewww," they said together.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You'd be surprised to know he's actually quite... suave." The admission sounded far more ridiculous than it had a month ago. They reacted by sticking out their tongues in disgust and waving their hands in her face as if to keep her from saying any more. "Well, your _precious_ Rosemerta certainly seems to think so. After all, she's the one who's sleeping with him."

Ron's eyes grew wide with comprehension. "She wouldn't," he protested.

Hermione snorted. "I assure you, she _would._"

"And _you_..." Harry trailed off, unable to voice the horror playing out in his mind. For a long moment, both boys simply stared down at the surface of the table, their eyes watching invisible horrors as they played out in front of them.

"Uck!" they cried.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," Ron said at last. "I'll understand if you never want to drink Polyjuice again."

"Wait a minute." Harry was incensed by this new threat to the plan. Suddenly, things weren't going his way, anymore. "It's not as if she _has_ to sleep with him again. Tell him you're sick. Tell him you're... that you're... _you _know..."

"_What?_" Hermione bit out impatiently.

"That you... that is... you're on your... you know..." Harry seemed to run out of words, at that. "Never mind."

Hermione nearly laughed, at that. "Professor Snape is an adult male. I think he knows a bit more about... _that_... than you do. And if he does, he'll know that if I wasn't having my... _that_..." she couldn't help a giggle at the boys' horrified expressions, "last time, I certainly shouldn't be having it exactly four weeks later."

"He might not," Ron protested, weakly.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Ronald, I think you'll just have to trust me on this one. Professor Snape knows a lot more about the female body than either of you do." The boys blushed painfully red at that, turning away as if unable to look at her. "Oh give over, will you? It really wasn't that bad!"

Harry looked up at her, sheepishly. "Then... you'll do it again?"

"I..." Hermione's jaw clicked shut as she realised she'd walked straight into a trap. "Oh _alright_. I suppose I'll have to. But this is the last time! Whether or _not_ I get the answer."

...*~*J*~*...

The day of the second Hogsmead trip was even colder than the first. Hermione could not discern how much of her shivering was from the cold, and how much was from the fear. It wasn't the same as before, when she had had no idea what would happen when she stepped through that trap door. This time, she knew how to play the game. No, this time, her fear revolved around one Severus Snape.

For days after her last trip to Hogsmeade, Hermione had not been able to look her professor in the face. For weeks after that, she couldn't stop thinking about him. Nothing could ever make her see him as she had before. She had known him in an entirely different way, and there was no going back from that. Her professor had unwittingly brought her an immense amount of pleasure, and Hermione wasn't sure what she would do if she were offered that again. Perhaps that was the most frightening part.

Standing beneath the trapdoor to Madame Rosemerta's cellar, the Golden Trio hesitated. The sense of foreboding was not as bad as last time. Of course, that may have been because she was also excited to see her professor. _That is not the point of this mission_, she told herself. It would not do to forget their purpose. But then Harry turned to her and met her eyes in the hazy darkness of the tunnel. "It's not too late to turn back," he told her, seeming repentant at last. Hermione glared at him. As much as he had pushed her to do this a second time, as much as she had argued against him, he was telling her now that she could return to the safety and comfort of the castle, and that would be alright. Well, it was too late.

"Yes, it is."

The Chosen One had no response for that. He simply gulped and looked up at the trapdoor. With one last deep breath, they pushed through into the cellar of 'The Three Broomsticks.' It took longer for Rosemerta to appear, this time, but Hermione's nervousness did not abate. Their last attempt had not been easy, and she was not looking forward to repeating the process. Fortunately, Rosemerta did eventually appear. They went through the motions of drugging her and hiding her as Hermione transformed and altered her clothing. When they were done, they all met each other's eyes. Well, that is, except for Ron whose eyes were bulging in the direction of Hermione's breasts. "You don't suppose..." he began in a quiet voice.

Hermione glared at him, folding her arms across her chest until he looked into her eyes. "_What_, Ronald?"

The boy gulped. "N-nothing."

She rolled her eyes, turning her back on the boys and beginning to ascend the stairs. It was as if she were backstage of some grand opera production, dressed the part of the lowly barmaid, secretly the lover of the mysterious spy. A thrill ran down her spine. There was no stage waiting for her past that door. The crack of light beyond would lead her straight into a very real and dangerous position. If she failed, the consequences would be worse than a few rotten tomatoes. She took a deep breath, realising once again that they had been down in the cellar an awfully long time. She hoped Rosemerta had not been fetching something too important, or that she would find out soon enough what it was, and stepped through the door. A brush of silky fabric against her ankle was enough to tell her that the boys had made it through, and she shut the door. Here she was, the star of the show, ready to play her part, ready to face her audience.

Settling into the role was much easier a second time. She already felt as if she knew her own routine. The stakes didn't seem to be as high, although she knew better this time. She knew that they were higher than she had imagined the time before. This time, she might be seduced again by the Potions Master. And would she allow it? She wasn't quite sure, herself. Of course, this time Harry and Ron would want to know. She could always lie... Oh, _why_ was she even _thinking_ such things!? It was absolutely preposterous.

But then there he was. When the dark professor swept through the doors of her humble establishment, Hermione's heart pounded with nervousness and desire. She had seen him nearly every day since the last time. But he hadn't seen her. Not the same her. Not the her he had shagged in the bedroom at the top of the stairs. Not the her he had spent himself inside as if nothing in the world could be sweeter. His eyes told no secrets as he crossed the crowded pub. His face was the neutral mask of a practised spy. For a moment, she even doubted it had been him. Could some other man have masqueraded as her Potions Master as she had pretended to be the barmaid? But that was too ridiculous to be true. The Slytherin was a far subtler and more experienced secret-keeper than she. His life depended on it.

Despite herself, Hermione felt her face grow warm as the man approached. His dark cloaks billowed out behind him like storm clouds across the sea. He took a seat at the bar and raised an eyebrow at her when she finally met his gaze. When no words tumbled from that perfectly-sculpted mouth, Hermione turned up her chin and tried to grin at the man. "How can I help you, sir?" she asked.

The professor lifted his chin in answer, staring down his nose at her in derision. "Have you ever known me to order anything other than Scotch?" he asked her.

Hermione shook her head, the answer apparent in the way he'd formed the words. She fought a blush and reacted defensively, lifting a delicate eyebrow of her own. "Just thought I'd ask," she said, turning away from him to fill a little glass. When she placed the tumbler in front of her professor, she walked away without another word. But she could feel his eyes on her back, even when every glance told her otherwise.

She was busy pretending not to watch the dark professor when the Deputy Headmistress swept through the door. Hermione's heart almost stopped, and she was reminded of the original purpose of her disguise. Minerva McGonagall was the one she needed to see. And the woman was here, right now, right there, in her sights. "How may I help you, Professor?" she asked the older woman.

McGonagall gave her a tight smirk. "Something strong," was all she said. "It has been a trying week. A trying _month_, for that matter."

"I see," Hermione said, pouring a Scotch for her professor. "Trouble at the school?"

Professor McGonagall nodded. "Taking the form of the most odious _toad_ that ever stepped through those doors."

Hermione almost choked. She had never heard the professors speak a word against Umbridge, though of course it had been obvious that they wanted to. "A _toad_, you say?"

"Indeed. An ugly, terrible creature. You _must_ have heard the rumours of it by now."

The barmaid nodded at her customer in sympathy. "Another of Fudge's lackeys."

The stern woman's head shot up so fast that Hermione was afraid she'd made a mistake, but McGonagall only laughed and nodded her head. "Indeed," she agreed, sipping her drink. "And attempting to enforce his _opinion_ that You-Know-Who has not returned."

"Is that so?" A little jolt of excitement throbbed in Hermione's throat. "Of course, _we_ know it's all a bunch of hogwash."

McGonagall met her eyes at that. "Well, of course it is. Harry Potter saw the man, himself, returned to his body in that graveyard at the end of the last school year. Surely you don't believe the _nonsense_ that's been printed in the Prophet, of late."

"Not a word of it," Hermione rushed to assure the older woman. She could feel that this was her chance, but couldn't be sure how to go about asking. "Of course, one has to wonder why the wizard's been so quiet. If he has returned to power, I mean, wouldn't he be out wreaking havoc?"

The Transfigurations Professor reached across the bar, covering the other woman's hand with hers. "He is gathering strength as we speak," she whispered.

"Strength?" Hermione prodded.

Her professor nodded, gesturing to her glass for another. Excitement swelled inside Hermione's chest, but she needed to maintain her position. Taking the opportunity to fill the glasses of several other patrons, she returned to the older woman with a curious expression on her face. McGonagall needed no more prodding. "He's after something," she whispered. _Something he didn't have last time. _

"Yes?" Hermione was practically holding her breath as the older woman leaned toward her, preparing to whisper the long-sought secret in her ear. Suddenly, the door to the pub was thrown open, and in walked two strange men Hermione had never seen before. McGonagall's spine snapped straight so fast it was amazing the woman hadn't cracked anything. Then, the two men pushed their way over to a table directly behind the woman, and the professor pointedly sipped at her Scotch. The meaning was obvious. She could not risk speaking of such things in front of _them._

The Transfigurations Mistress left shortly after that and Hermione went to serve the two newcomers, kicking herself and wishing she could curse their pelts off as she poured their Fire Whiskeys. She had been _so close!_ Disappointment searing into her flesh, Hermione did not even feel nervous when she approached the Head of Slytherin once again. He needed another Scotch and he scowled at her for keeping him waiting, but she could care less. Already, it was apparent; this day was another waste of time. She would not be getting her answers from Professor McGonagall, today. _So close!_ She had been _so close!_

"Bad day?" The Potions Master's velvety baritone caught her by surprise, and she looked up to find his dark eyes twinkling at her with merriment. He was enjoying her sour mood. The git!

"Bad week," she confessed, glaring at him.

"Me too," he said, tapping the edge of his glass for a refill. She complied without courtesy, anger thrumming in her every bone. Just five seconds more and she would have had her answer. Those stupid fools! She blamed them for ruining everything she'd worked so hard to do. This whole charade was a waste of her time. And that was all their fault! "You know," her professor told her in a low voice that she had to strain her ears to hear, "you look awfully pretty when you're angry."

The sudden compliment made her eyes go wide, and her lips parted as she glanced around to make sure no one had heard. The bar stools closest to him were vacant and the other customers were busy with their own conversations. She stepped closer to him, drawn by that dangerous voice of his, needing to hear him say it again. In her room, late at night, she could pretend he had been talking to _her._ "Do I?"

"Yes," he breathed. "Your cheeks are flushed and your lips are swollen with passion as if I'd only just left you in the sheets. Your breasts are heaving, teasing me more and more with the prospect that they might any second spill out of your dress for me to see. Even your hair seems to be curling more angrily than before, making me want to bury my fingers in it to hold you still. Would you like that?"

Hermione was breathless. "You like my hair?"

"It's as wild as you are. Perfect leverage to hold you still for me to take my pleasure. Shall I come to you tonight?"

He was giving her the choice. This was the moment for her to tell him 'no.' This was her chance to give him some excuse, rather than complicate the matter any further with another forbidden tryst beneath the sheets. "Yes," she told him in a breathless confession. It was not the answer her mind had given, but she couldn't seem to control her mouth as she stared into those mischievous eyes.

"I'm hard just thinking about it," he whispered, glancing down at the front of his trousers. From this angle, she could not see for herself, but the mere prospect of his arousal made her body throb with need. And she would have him soon enough.

The men who had ruined her day started shouting for her attention. Apparently, they had been waiting for another drink for quite some time. She hurried over to them with the bottle, refilling another gentleman's glass on her way, and tried to keep from telling the surly bastards off. "Tha's more like it!" one of them told her as she leaned over to pour his glass.

"'Ow much fer a feel o' yer tits?" the other said, ogling her chest as she hurried to straighten out of his view.

The other grabbed her wrist, yanking her down again as the two of them laughed. She half expected the Potions Master to come to her rescue, but a glance in his direction showed him scowling into an empty glass, determined not to notice what was happening. "A fine pair. They're worth a knut er two." The two men laughed as Hermione ripped out of their grasp and glared down at them. She turned to stomp away and should not have been surprised when one of their grubby hands reached out to grab her arse before she made it out of reach. She turned to huff angrily down at them, unsure what women did in this sort of situation. The real Rosemerta would have been better prepared, she was sure. With nothing to say, she headed back toward the bar.

"I'll give ye' a galleon to spread those pretty legs o' yers!"

That was it. Hermione's righteous anger pushed past her sense of caution and she turned back toward the two men. "This is _not_ that sort of establishment!" Her angry shout drew more attention than theirs had, but the Gryffindor in her would not back down. "If you cannot behave yourselves, you are welcome to leave!" At that, the pub grew silent, and the two men glared at her before glancing at each other. Slowly, they stood; their stances aggressive. For a moment, Hermione was sure they would attack her, but she stood her ground. One of them spat and the other flipped over the table, causing a cry of shock to ripple through the crowd. They slammed the door shut when they left and Hermione belatedly noticed the frantic beating of her heart. She had been holding her breath, it seemed, and a sense of foreboding fell over her. Desperately, she hoped she had not just caused the real Rosemerta any harm.

After righting the table, Hermione returned to the bar, turning to her professor as if to ask him if she had done the right thing. His eyes glittered as he smirked up at her with something akin to pride. It was all she could do to keep from collapsing with relief. He would know if those men had been truly dangerous. And if they had been, he wouldn't be smirking at her like that. She sighed, glaring down at the bar before refilling his glass.

"Testy today," he commented. The pub had gone back to its usual noisy self, but still she glanced around to be sure no one was listening. The practised spy was more cautious than she'd ever be, she told herself. Yet, still, she wanted to be sure. When he leaned toward her, his voice was a dangerous growl. "Bring that anger to bed with you tonight. I want to fuck it out of you." The words sent a flash of heat across her skin, making her gasp through parted lips as images flitted through her mind. _He wants me._ It was all she could think. For weeks, she had craved that desire from him, and tonight it would be hers.

The day passed slowly and her anger simmered down to a dull, bitter ache. The Potions Master did not stay, but left as he had the last time, with a promise to return. He returned earlier, too, drinking more and more Scotch as the crowd slowly dwindled down to nothing. At two in the morning, Hermione took another slug of Polyjuice Potion, waiting anxiously to be alone with the professor. She was surprised when the remaining patrons immediately left and her professor stood to ward the door. The taste of the potion was still on her tongue as he began to walk toward her. _He will know!_ She scrambled desperately for a plan, reaching instinctively for the bottle of Scotch. "Join me in a drink?" she offered, pouring one for herself before he could protest.

"Certainly," he agreed, though he had already had several in the past couple of hours since his return.

A quick gulp of the golden liquid made her throat burn and her eyes sting with tears, but she covered the reaction with a smile. It was painful, but necessary, if she was to fool the Slytherin spy. Still, the taste lingered. Two more generous gulps washed the potion away, but they went straight to her head, making the room sway strangely. She met his eyes, so dark and full of promise. He was watching her, waiting, thinking of what they would be doing soon. _Oh gods._ Why had she asked him to return to her tonight? What had she been thinking? She had had the chance to turn him away. He had _given_ it to her, for Merlin's sake. And still she had invited him back to her pub, with the promise inherent that she would take him to her bed and give her body to his will. Well, not _her_ body... but it was her nonetheless. And hadn't she condemned him the last time for having meaningless sex? Why did she want that again when it left her so hollow? But it wasn't merely sex that she desired. If it had been, Ron Weasley would have happily obliged. It was her professor that she wanted; a closer connection to him; being given a view into the world of the dark wizard that she never would have known before. She needed _him_, specifically. It was worth it, she told herself. She didn't regret that last time and she wanted to do it again.

"It has been a long day," Professor Snape growled in a dangerous tone. He reached for the bottle, pouring another long measure into each of their glasses. Hermione swallowed. This was a dangerous business. She was playing with fire. She needed to be careful. And he was taking away her caution with a glass.

"It has," she agreed, reaching for the tumbler. This time, she knew what to expect, but it did not make the task any easier to complete. If anything, knowing the ugly fire that would burn its way down her throat made her more hesitant than before. But the suave older man downed his glass in one smooth gulp and Hermione couldn't help but be impressed. _That_, she was sure, was the way a barmaid _ought_ to know how to drink. But now was not the time to test it. Instead, she made a point of taking small, deliberate sips, savouring the liquid in her mouth, though it made her want to gag. He laughed.

When her glass was empty, the Potions Master stood, taking his cue from her hesitance to refill their drinks, and sweeping around the bar to take her hand. "Shall we?" he asked her, meeting her eyes through the dark.

"Yes," she breathed, the Scotch having lifted her thoughts and set her blood afire. It was with great anticipation that they slowly climbed the stairs.

The room was dark, and neither of them made any effort to change that. Her professor found her body with his hands and brought her up against his own, meeting her mouth at last with his. She moaned against his touch, tasting his lips with a need she had not allowed of herself the first time. Whether or not it was wrong, it was too late to turn back. She might as well enjoy it. Let the guilt find her in the morning. For now, the man who had kept her up at night with strange emotions coiling in her belly was here for her to touch and hold and cherish. She knew now what those strange emotions had been; that she had been a fool to consider they were mere excitement. Lust. Admiration. She _wanted_ him, more than she had ever wanted anyone in her life. She wanted what he had given her the last time, and she wanted it to happen _now._

When he slipped his tongue into her mouth, Hermione opened for him, meeting it with her own as her hands reached up to tug at his hair in impatience. She _needed_ him. She needed him _closer_. _Immediately._ Her hands were at his buttons, unwrapping his body to her touch. He growled in apparent arousal, reaching his hands down to cup her arse, pulling her hard against his stiff erection. She could feel the length of it through her skirts, as hard as rock. It was amazing. _This is your professor_, she reminded herself. Aye, but she knew that. She knew who this was. And she _wanted _him. "I want to taste you," she heard herself confess. Tasting him was something she could keep with her forever. No matter what he did, she would always know his taste.

Her professor growled and bit her lip, moving his hands to her shoulders and urging her down onto her knees. She complied readily, eagerly, anxiously. Her fingers were clumsy as they worked to free his cock, but one quick wave of his hand and the buttons undid themselves, and he sprang free. She gasped as the head smacked her upper lip and she grabbed the shaft with one hand. He growled as she brought her mouth slowly, teasingly toward him, breathing hot breath across the tip as her hand worked up and down. The very tip of her tongue darted out to taste him and he jerked forward in his eagerness for more. She laughed in a sultry voice that surprised even her and whispered into the darkness, "Patience." But then his hands were twisting in her hair and her need for him made her want to burst apart. She brought her tongue to his head again, tasting him more thoroughly, this time. His hands were tightening around her curly locks, twisting as if to keep himself under control, and the pain made her smile even as her eyes stung with tears.

She took him in her mouth, then, and he moaned so wildly that she thought she might die with desire. How would she ever be able to listen to his lectures in that thick, silky voice of his, again? For a few long minutes, she teased him with a torturously slow pace as she slid her swollen lips up and down his cock. He was panting into the darkness, but soon it was too much for him to bear. His eyes met hers and her clothing disappeared in a flash of magic. Then, his hands were forcing her head faster and harder against his cock until he was thrusting himself down her throat. Instinctively, she opened it for him, choking as he took his pleasure, and burning with the pleasure it gave her to let him do so.

Suddenly, he stopped, pulling her to her feet and toward the bed. "Did you like that?" he asked her, his deep voice rough with passion.

"Yes," she admitted in a breath, pushing him down onto the bed and straddling him. As soon as she had done it, she realised she didn't know the first thing about being on top. But he seemed to like the idea, so she decided to follow her intuition. The Scotch had given her courage and taken away her fear of disappointing him. All that mattered was her own pleasure, and his body beneath hers seemed to do the trick.

She met his mouth, rubbing her body against his as she moaned with agonized bliss. She would not have another opportunity to do this, so she would have to make it count. "Gods you're wet," he gasped against her mouth, reaching down to where she slid over his aching cock. His fingers against her flesh made her moan aloud like a feral animal, but she hardly heard herself. He was rubbing her just the right way and Hermione thought she might come apart beneath his touch. She bucked anxiously against his hand, the hot slippery friction of it driving her insane. Never had she felt such pleasure.

Suddenly, she was coming, calling out as shocks of fire flashed through her body with aching ecstasy. She might have bruised him for all the force she'd put behind her thrusts, but the thought never entered her mind. Before she had even come down from her orgasm, she found herself flat on her back, and her professor was pushing apart her thighs. "Fuck!" he cried as he thrust into her. "So wet." He began to hammer against her, almost violently, thrashing about as she had in a frenzy. The feeling of his cock inside her made Hermione want to weep. She had never felt so thoroughly ravished, not that she'd ever had the chance, and every sensation made her cry out with abandon. He pushed her heavy breasts together as he fucked her, staring at them instead of her face. And when he came, his voice was a raspy snarl, torn from the depths of his being, and his hot breath fanned across her neck in puffs of heat. As he came down, his mouth met the tender flesh of her slender neck and he bit her hard, nipping with his teeth so that she cried out in pleasurable pain. Then, he collapsed beside her, spent and tired. And they enjoyed a moment's rest as the alcohol and the aftershocks of pleasure slowly hummed through their bodies.

And Hermione fell asleep.

...*~*J*~*...

_I would LOVE you know what you think! Please take a moment to leave a little review! Your opinions are diamonds to me!_

_:} llorolalluvia_


	3. Chapter 3

_Thank you all so much for your support and reviews! This is the third and FINAL instalment of "_Rosemerta"_, so I hope you enjoy it! Also, I just have to express my excitement and gratitude that someone has nominated two of my fics, "_Shampoo_," and "_Hallucination_," for the Livejournal HP Fanfic Poll Awards! Thank you so much to whoever nominated me! I couldn't be more flattered!_

_Anyway, without further ado, here's the last chapter! I hope you like it! _

...*~*J*~*...

Darkness met her eyes when Hermione Granger woke in the middle of the night. For a long moment, she thought nothing of it. But there is something inherently startling about waking in an unfamiliar place. She could see nothing, but the darkness was strange and she had the uncomfortable feeling that she was not where she ought to be.

Her body gave a jolt when she remembered. How had she managed to fall asleep? And then, behind her, something moved. The deep voice of a man sighed into the darkness, and the sheets rustled as he stretched out his limbs. Cold dread blossomed in the cavity of her chest, reaching out with icy fingers to fill her body with primal fear. Her professor was still in the bed. And she was no longer Rosemerta.

Her mind sought a plan; an escape route. If he saw her in the light, it would all be over. Her movement had woken him up, so she would have to wait for him to fall back to sleep. And then what? Maybe she could slip out of bed slowly enough that he would not feel her move. But that was not likely. The man was a practised spy. He probably slept with one eye open. How the hell was she going to escape?

Suddenly, a long, wiry arm draped itself across her body, and Hermione tensed. If he reached for her breasts, he would know straight away. Panic searing her insides, the slender witch drew her arm tight against her chest, locking that secret between her and the sheets. Her professor curled up behind her, moulding his arm to hers as his hot breath tickled the back of her neck. He yawned, idly rubbing a rough hand up and down her arm before letting it slip down between her legs. "Mmmmm," he growled. Hermione fought the instinct to push him away. The last thing she needed was a confrontation.

Professor Snape started pressing against her backside, his hard cock slipping between her legs. He fumbled to position himself, without so much as a 'by-your-leave,' and began to push inside. Hermione gasped. The sudden pain was so at odds with all of her previous experiences with the man that she nearly cried out into the night. But she bit her lip, praying he would attribute the obvious impediment to the strangeness of their position.

When he thrust eagerly through the barrier of her virginity, Hermione bit through the tender flesh of her lip as tears sprung to her eyes. The pain was like nothing she'd ever felt before, despite the extant lubrication which the student in her knew to be an aid. "Oh _fuck!" _her professor cried, thrusting against her from behind. All she could feel was the sharp pain of his penetration and a duller ache deep inside her as he slammed against her body. "_Gods_ you're tight," he remarked.

Professor Snape pushed her over into the sheets, thrusting into her from above. His breath stirred the hair at the nape of her neck as his arms reached beneath her to lift her arse for better access. The position made her writhe beneath him, struggling against a pleasant pressure that was begging for release, even as she tried to keep her mind on the task at hand. She needed to devise a plan before he found out who she was, but how could she pay attention with such intensity hammering through her slender frame. Perhaps her own body was more sensitive than Rosemerta's. Maybe it was the lack of experience. But whatever it was, she was losing her mind to the overwhelming sensation of her professor's hard cock as he fucked her atop the bed. And every grunt and groan was proof that he didn't just like Rosemerta's body. He was enjoying _hers!_

Hermione cried out with wanton abandon, desperate to make the pleasure stop. It was too much for her to handle, though she loved it just the same. "Please!" she cried as he hammered into her. "Please, _please_," only she didn't know what to say. She didn't know what she wanted except some release from this pleasurable pain. Her professor leaned over her, kissing the back of her neck, and the position drove his cock against a tender place inside her. She cried out, screaming with intense pleasure as he stuffed one hand beneath her chest. Then he was coming, too. He growled into the night, squeezing her tiny breast as he pulled out of her body. His seed sprayed across her back in hot rivulets of sticky warmth and a light filled the room as he wrenched her over onto her back. And Hermione looked up into her professor's angry eyes with absolute petrifying fear.

His fury warred with disbelief and Hermione thought she might die. How had she been so foolish? How could she have fallen asleep? Now what was to become of her? He would murder her for sure! For a long moment, they only stared at one another. Then, Hermione dared to speak first. "I'm sorry," she began, but she hardly had the words out before the back of his hand collided with her face, and suddenly she was looking at the lamp beside the bed.

"How did you get here?" he demanded.

"I..."

"What are you _doing_ here? Have you been here the entire time?!" Horror seemed to dawn on him little by little as the implications of it all crashed over him. "Oh Gods," he whispered, withdrawing from her and staring down at the bed. Hermione hurried to cover herself, embarrassment thrumming across her skin. But she was not quick enough. "You're bleeding," he gasped, ripping the sheets from her hands. Hermione scrambled back on the bed as her professor bent to look for a wound, belatedly realising exactly what he had done. The look of horror on his face made her cringe with abject fear. She was disgusted with herself in the light of his revelation. How could she have taken advantage of him in such a way?

Professor Snape tore away from her, wrapping the bloody sheet about his frame and stumbling toward the window to lean against the glass. Anything to be away from her, it seemed. Maybe she could run for it; just slip out of bed and run for the cellar before he had a chance to see where she'd gone. But there was no chance of that. Her clothing were gone, anyway, and he was a practised spy. He would certainly know the moment she slipped out of bed, and he would stop her if she tried anything funny.

Hermione watched as her professor's fist banged against the window, clenching and unclenching angrily until suddenly it stopped. His frame grew rigid and she held her breath as the Head of Slytherin House turned to face her. "You did this," he said, pointing one long, dexterous finger at her. He seemed to take comfort in her guilt. "This is your fault!" The light of derangement glistened in his eyes, and for the first time Hermione was afraid. This man could hurt her—might hurt her—and she would probably deserve it.

"I'm so sorry, Professor," she said again. Would it be best to tell him the truth, or a lie? And which truth was that? The truth that she had needed the answer to a secret (thereby ruining their chances of ever discovering such) or the truth that she had wanted him? If he thought that she had only succumbed to his desires to save face, he would hate her all the more. No, perhaps her best course of action was to flatter him, to make him believe she had wanted his body, as well. It was true, after all. "Please, Professor," she pleaded, stalling for time. She had to choose, but there was great risk in the game. What if she chose wrong? "I know it was wrong," she told him. "I just... couldn't help myself."

Her professor was frozen where he stood, the bloody sheets draped around him like some wounded Roman god. He made no response, so she began to speak again, hoping that something she said might dissuade him of her ulterior motives. "I wanted you."

He was silent a long minute, frozen in judgement over her, before speaking at long last. "_Why_?"

Hermione was not sure how to respond. "You..."

"I mean..." he began again, waving away her words, "why did you pose as Rosemerta?"

She gulped. "I knew she was involved with you..."

Malice twisted the cold man's face. "You _couldn't_ have known that."

Her chin lifted in defiance. "Obviously, I did... sir."

"You couldn't have known that _before,_" he amended, stepping toward her.

She swallowed anxiously, but they seemed to be making progress. "I wanted you," she repeated, noting the way he seemed to want to believe it.

But Severus Snape was no fool. "You were spying on me," he decided.

"No!"

"You had to have been spying on me to notice anything between myself and that witch, so you must have become her in order to more effectively _spy_ on me."

"What reason would I have to spy on you, if not for the reason I've given, myself?"

Her professor moved toward her at that, coming to the edge of the bed and leaning over her as if to intimidate. "You and your friends think I'm a Death Eater."

"You _are_ a Death Eater," she argued. "Why would Rosemerta know better than Albus Dumbledore? It's already clear the two of you have no true romantic bond."

"You are naive. Perhaps you thought you could get me drunk; make me confess."

"I am no _fool_, either," she argued. "And besides, I _believe_ you." The admission was so heartfelt that their eyes met in surprise. She was as shocked to hear herself say it as he was.

"Is that so?" He sneered. "You _believed_ in me so _deeply_ that you felt the need to _fuck _me, is that it?!" Hermione bit back the instinctive protest, remembering that that had been her argument. She hung her head. "My, my, how... un-Gryffindor of you." His smirk was full of twisting malice and she wondered how a man who harboured so much passion could feel so much hate. Perhaps they were one and the same. Then, he stepped around to the side of the bed, thrusting a hand into her hair and turning her face to look up at him. "Do I _look_ like a fool, Miss Granger?" Hermione tried to shake her head, but it was steady in his painful grip. "This is your last chance to tell me the truth before I resort to more... _drastic_... measures. _Why_ were you _spying_? _Why_ did you disguise yourself as that barmaid slut?"

Hermione's eyes grew wide at that and she struggled for something to say. Only, it was so difficult to fabricate a new lie with those piercing black eyes staring so intently into hers. Images of their planning came unbidden to her mind, flitting past like a summary of their scheme. It wasn't until he released her hair and smirked that she realised what he'd done. "Is that it?" He almost seemed to laugh. "You let your Potions Master _fuck_ you so that you might learn what it is the Dark Lord seeks?" Her professor clucked teasingly at her, but she sensed that behind those dark black eyes he despised himself as much as he hated her.

"No," she told him, lifting her chin. "I became Rosemerta to discover that secret..." she hesitated, bracing herself with clenched fingers in the sheets. "But I came up here because I _wanted _you to..." she could not seem to say it aloud, but her meaning was clear.

The professor glared down at her, his lips parting in shock at her words, and he made as if to reach for her, to punish her in some way, but he hesitated. Hermione took the opportunity to drop the sheets she held, letting them slide down her bare breasts to puddle at her waist. She had nothing left to lose, after all. Was she a Gryffindor, or wasn't she?

His eyes flickered down to her chest at that, lingering a long moment before he turned away. "I am your _professor_, Miss Granger. You should never have acted on these... _feelings_... toward me."

"I didn't mean to," she admitted, wondering why on earth she was behaving in this brazen manner. "I couldn't help myself." She let out a long sigh. "I wanted you."

When her professor turned back toward her, it was with venom in his voice. "I expected _better_ from you, Granger! You are not the over-sexed harlot that most of your classmates are! _Why_ would you _choose_ to sink so low?"

Hermione was incensed. "You're one to talk!" she shouted, rolling onto her feet beside him and pointing up into his stricken face. "You're brilliant and talented and brave, but that doesn't keep you from carrying on an emotionless sexual relationship with a woman you yourself called a slut. How can _you_ lecture me about giving in to the temptation of sex with the one man I admire when I was already under pressure to keep my cover and that magical voice of yours was coaxing me into compliance?!"

He was silent a moment, panting as he gawked at her in surprise. "I'm only a man, Miss Granger. A man has needs."

"And I'm only a... woman."

He snorted at that. "Girl," he amended.

"Woman," she argued in a stern voice. "If you'll recall the night before, I would certainly be hesitant to attribute _that_ behaviour to a _girl._"

His eyes unfocused at that, staring past her at his memories of their night together. Then he cringed in disgust and turned away from her. A sudden cool draft reminded Hermione of her nakedness, and she reached for him. Latching onto his elbow, she turned him to face her again. "Please, Professor," she pleaded. He met her eyes, the hesitant desire to listen to her conveyed in the sadness she saw. She changed tactics, letting her hand slide down his arm to grasp his hand as her eyes swept down his body, drawing his to her naked breasts. She sensed the moment that he noticed, for his posture grew stiff, and he stopped breathing. Slowly, deliberately, she lifted his hand, meeting his eyes as she brought it to the firm roundness of her breast. It was smaller than Rosemerta's, but he seemed to like it all the same, if his parted lips and heavy breathing were any indication.

"No," he told her sternly, pulling his hand away and turning his head. "You are my student. You are too young."

"We've already done the damage," she argued. "Please. I want you." Hearing those words seemed to have a strong impact on her lonely professor and Hermione knew that this was what she needed to do. "_Please_," she moaned, "I _need_ you." He met her eyes, wanting to believe her, wanting to give in to her demands. She could feel it.

"It's wrong," he told her in a weaker voice.

"No it's not," she answered. "Who says?" She caught his hand again, bringing it back up to her breast and sighing when their skin connected once again. "I want you and you want me. That's enough, isn't it?"

He moaned and she felt his fingers gently plying her soft flesh. She gasped and let her hand fall away, allowing him to touch her on his own. To her immense satisfaction, he did not remove it, but continued to fondle her, rubbing the rough part of his thumb over her nipple. She knew it the moment he reconsidered, and she took the opportunity to step toward him, meeting his skin with her own. He gasped with pleasure, his cock rising hard against her belly as his hands came to rest upon her waist. She reached her hands behind his neck and pulled him down until their mouths connected and he moaned.

Hermione's heart was beating so hard in her chest that she thought it might burst. She didn't know where she'd found all this courage, but damned if it mattered right now. Her professor was kissing her, touching her... the _real_ her this time, not Rosemerta. And Hermione had never felt more divinely out of control. She nipped at his lip, begging him to open them, and slipped her tongue inside. That must have been the turning point for the older man. Having her take charge seemed to have given him permission, somehow, as if he had no choice but to succumb. He reached down to her arse, cupping her cheeks in his hands and pulling her hard up against him as his mouth opened against her own. His tongue plunged past her teeth and she moaned, desperate for more of his touch. It was exhilarating, this feeling of powerlessness and power all at once. It was not that she was in control, nor that she couldn't keep it all from happening, but that they were both swept up in something greater than themselves, and neither wanted to stop it from unfolding all around them.

Suddenly, Hermione was falling backwards. She let out a squeal as she landed against the mattress, limbs flailing wildly as her professor laughed down at her. The sheet that had been veiling his body had long since fallen to the floor, and there he stood, staring at her with such intensity and want. It was different than it had been, and left her mouth dry and her heart hammering in her chest. He had never looked at Rosemerta as he was looking at her now.

She beckoned to him, and he immediately complied, covering her tiny frame as he pulled her farther onto the bed between kisses that sipped at the tenderness of her mouth. He took his time, cradling her head as he brushed his lips across her desperate flesh. He sucked at her throat like a starving man at a feast and cupped her breast in a gentle palm.

Hermione squirmed beneath him, impatient with his tenderness, begging for the passion that she'd been shown before. He rubbed his cock between her legs, teasing her deliberately as he smirked against her mouth. She arched her back against him, moaning and dragging her fingers through his hair. If he would not give her what she wanted, she was going to make her impatience known. Unfortunately, pulling his hair only seemed to excite him and give him the urge to retaliate. He bit her bottom lip, laughing into her mouth as she whined and wrapped her legs around his waist. He growled and bucked against her then, not immune to the seduction of her curves. "Please," she begged him, breaking away from his mouth to arch against him, offering herself in no uncertain terms. She met his eyes through a haze of desire and slowly licked her lips. "_Please_," she pleaded once more, stretching her arms out in abandon to his touch. "Severus."

He gasped at the sound of his name on her voice, his eyes growing very wide. For a moment, she was sure he'd pull away and reprimand her. Fortunately, her daring move had the opposite effect. Eagerly, he thrust inside her, filling her body with his aching cock as he bent his head to capture her lips again. They moaned together as he began to move, slowly, desperately teasing the fire they had built between them. When he pulled away from her, it was only to slam back in again.

Hermione thought she might go mad as her body begged for release and his slow, deliberate movements denied her with every thrust. He knew what he was doing to her, too. She could see it in those glinting, mischievous eyes. "Ohhhh," she moaned, desperation causing her to claw along his back. "_Please_..." she had no choice but to meet his every movement with an eager thrust of her own. "_Severus..."_

That seemed to have the desired effect. He growled and pressed against her more urgently, clearly restraining himself against his own instincts. Abruptly, Hermione understood. He was trying to be gentle with her. Perhaps he just didn't understand that what she wanted was exactly what he was so afraid to give. She pushed at him and his eyes met hers with uncertainty and hurt, but he pulled away. Before he could leave the bed, however, she grabbed his arm and threw him onto his back climbing on top of him and pushing him inside. Finally, she was in control. Finally, she was able to abandon herself in the flurry of movement and sensation as she straddled him, bucking against his bony body and riding her pleasure home.

Severus Snape growled low in his throat at that and gripped the girl's hips as she rocked frantically against him. Pulling her down to kiss his mouth, the man began to thrust up into her aching body, hitting her right where she needed it most. She cried into his mouth, slamming a palm against his chest over and over as the pleasure mounted to a crest. When she came, she stared into his eyes, communicating her devotion. He responded by wrapping his hands in her curly hair, bringing her mouth to his and rolling them over to grind hard against her a few more times before he came with a ragged moan.

Several long minutes passed as the two unlikely lovers cradled one another. Her professor's hands were still buried in her hair, and his hot breath was fanning across her collarbone in waves of heat. Somehow, instinctively, she knew she had to do something before he started to regret this. That something turned out to be wrapping her fingers in his hair, gently massaging his scalp before leaning up to place a kiss against his brow. But this seemed to bring the man back to reality, and when he met her eyes, his own were full of horror at what he'd done. "Shhh," she told him, as he pulled away from her. "It's alright." He hesitated, and she took the chance to reach a hand up to his face, cradling it in her palm. "Stay. Please. The world can wait. Right now, it doesn't matter." His eyes switched between her two and she knew that he wanted to believe her. Smiling, she reached a hand into his hair and pulled him down so she could kiss him. It was tender, tentative, and sweet. But he reciprocated, settling down with his arms braced on either side of her. Slowly, softly, he began to kiss her back.

Later, they would worry about Rosemerta. They would deal with Ron and Harry. They would return to student and teacher. The War would go on and the world would change, hopefully for the better. But right now, it all could wait. They were just two people connecting with each other in a world of discord and hate. And the feelings between them were anything but.

Hermione thought back to the moment she realised, for the first time, that Snape was a sexual being. It came as even more of a surprise to learn that he was a loving one.

...*~*J*~*...

_That's the end! I hope you enjoyed it! _

_If you did, please take a moment to let me know. Every little email in my inbox stamped with the heading __**"Review"**__ makes my little heart flutter like a glimpse of the Potions Master would. _

_Even your criticism is always welcome and appreciated. _

_Thank you so much for reading my story!_

_**LOVE**_

_:} llorolalluvia_


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